I am a necromancer, and I absolutely love America.

Chapter 145 Gestapo NYPD (7K long chapter, please vote and subscribe)

Deathly energy surged in from all directions.

They were originally still and scattered, floating in the cracks of rocks and in the soil.

Now, starting from the edge of the island, they begin to converge, faster and denser, like countless rivers flowing backwards in the same direction.

As Richard walked, the ring absorbed the death energy.

The deathly energy flowed faster and faster, transforming from a turbulent river into a storm.

In Richard's vision, deathly energy, like a typhoon, howled and wailed as it rushed into the ring.

When Richard had traversed half of Hart Island, the system notification finally sounded: "Ding! The [Withered Resentment] ring has advanced!"

The once dull white ring now shines even brighter, like polished silver, and has begun to reflect light.

******

[Withered resentment]

Enhancement attempts: 1

Type: Ring Spirit: +2

Fixed spell [Touch of Withering]: Upon contact with the target, it ages them by 0-28 years in a short period; if the target is a corpse, it will immediately turn to dust. Cooldown: 1 day.

Constant Magic Amplification [Infection Outbreak]: Amplifies a single-target spell into an area-of-effect spell, with the effect no longer diminishing. Cooldown: 7 days.

******

【Touch of Withering】 increases the upper limit of the aging time for living organisms to 28 years.

Richard hasn't used it yet.

This thing might be useful in the magical world, but in modern society, it's worthless if the aging process is minimal.

If someone ages significantly, it can easily attract unnecessary attention.

In addition, [Infection Outbreak] has been greatly strengthened. Previously, the effect of amplifying single-target spells into area-of-effect spells would be weakened, but this time it will no longer be weakened.

For example, the Fingers of Pain, once unleashed, can make hundreds of people kneel down and sing "Conquer".

And servants are strengthened!

If enhanced servants can also cause infection and outbreaks, is it possible to enhance a large number of servants at once?

Aside from skills, the most important improvement to [Withered Resentment] is that its Spirit has been increased by 14 points!

This time the feeling was even more pronounced.

He could clearly see the magic within his body, flowing slowly like a strange gray mist.

He also saw two semi-transparent lines extending out from his body.

What is this thing?

The two lines are very blurry; you can't see them unless you look closely.

One arrow points overhead, the other points to New York on the shore.

Richard tried to touch the line, but couldn't reach it.

"Unreachable?"

Richard pondered carefully.

Could it be...?

He looked up and saw that the focus of the line above his head was a hovering owl puppet.

The other thread is the fly puppet next to Antonio.

Richard took out a dead fly, and fresh flesh and blood poured in, causing the fly to quickly take flight.

Sure enough, he saw a semi-transparent line again.

Currently, it seems to only make the location sensing of the flesh puppet visible, without any special function.

The spirit level on the panel has finally reached 14 points.

As a result, the distance between [Hand of Magic] and [Touch of Pain] increased slightly, but it was insignificant.

The duration of [Flesh and Blood Puppet] has been increased by 1 hour, to 14 hours.

The maximum number of servants is still 3, and you can only get the next servant at 16:00.

The [Death Sensing] ability remains unchanged, with a 500-meter limit.

So what are the results?

Richard found a thigh bone protruding from the soil. Judging from its weathered state, it was estimated to be at least 50 years old, and possibly over a hundred.

With such skeletons, and because the bodies are often very incomplete, Richard often doesn't retain much of his memory.

He touched it gently, and a surprise appeared.

Five memories flooded into my brain!

The first paragraph shows the owner of the thigh bone smoking while staring at the sea. The cigarette ash falls into the water and spreads out. He glances down at it.

The memory has ended.

The second scene shows the owner of the thigh bone sitting on a train, while a woman runs alongside, crying and shouting, "I'm waiting for you to come back, Matthew! You must come back!"

It turns out that the owner of the thigh bone was named Matthew.

The third scene is Matthew on a battlefield in a jungle, surrounded by the strong smell of the sea. Artillery fire is deafening, and the enemy, short in stature, is charging forward, shouting frantically, "Banzai!"

It turns out that Matthew was a World War II veteran who was assigned to a low-level job.

In the fifth memory, Matthew was carried into a field hospital. His vision blurred violently and turned red. A doctor glanced at him and left, saying, "He's done for! Save the others!"

Matthew ultimately failed to return to that woman's side.

After reviewing the memories, Richard solemnly buried Matthew's thigh bone in the ground.

No matter who you are, I've always respected you.

After the Spirit stat is raised to 14 points, the [Death Sensation] is significantly enhanced.

I've never received so many memories at once before, especially from a mangled corpse.

Richard tried several more skeletons, and each time he was able to obtain more than 4 fragments, with a maximum of 6 fragments of memory.

If it's an intact corpse, you can definitely gain more memories.

The "Death Sense" feature suddenly became very useful.

Could you be promoted to the next level?

Richard greedily stroked the ring, then activated the Devouring Souls skill again.

This time, he clearly sensed something different. All the death energy on the entire island surged toward the ring without him having to get close, indicating that the ring's range of devouring death energy had increased.

Moreover, the absorption speed was even faster; Richard took more than ten minutes to absorb the first half of the death energy.

The remaining half of the death energy was completely drained in just three minutes.

Unfortunately, the ring was never upgraded.

The second enhancement will definitely consume more death energy than the first enhancement.

I just don't know how much to mention.

If Hart Island has 120 million skeletons, the first wave of death energy would have been formed by approximately 60 dead souls.

If the level 2 index is increased by just 100%, it will exceed one million.

I might be able to barely manage to reach level two, but it's almost impossible for me to advance to level three.

Richard heard the notification when he obtained [Withered Resentment]:

The necromancer's signature item can devour the souls of the dead and grow slowly.

The direction of the growth and advancement of your destined item is related to the characteristics of the devoured souls.

The higher the rank, the more powerful the undead soul is required.

The second enhancement may not rely solely on quantity; it also requires powerful undead.

Earth isn't a magical world; where are we going to find powerful spirits to summon?

Richard looked up at the sky.

After the deathly aura was swallowed up, the entire island felt brighter and clearer.

If you ignore the millions of skeletons buried underground, this island is no different from any other island.

Hart Island has been taken over. All that's left is for the people of South River Province to cultivate a diamond large enough for them to build a skeletal nest here.

Tomorrow, more workers will come to the island and use excavators to dig a deep pit in the woods. That's the spot he's reserved for the skeleton's nest.

The owl puppet suddenly began to circle rapidly.

Richard knew someone was coming.

At the same time, my phone rang.

Brian's voice came through: "Master, I have arrived."

"Come on up."

Brian landed on Hart Island and looked around; everything had returned to normal.

He stood by the dock for a moment, watching the row of newly installed solar panels on the island reflect the moonlight slightly, and suddenly felt a sense of peace that he couldn't quite explain.

The island, which was a battlefield just a few days ago, has now been completely cleaned up.

This was his first time on the island, and the thought of a million corpses buried there filled him with a sense of dread.

Fortunately, he soon saw Richard.

Richard was sitting in a folding chair at the entrance of the research cabin, sipping hot tea and leisurely gazing at the sea in the night.

"Master." Brian walked over and stood two steps away from Richard, giving a slight bow.

"Sit down." Richard raised his chin slightly, gesturing to the other empty chair next to him.

Brian sat down.

He sat very upright, his back slightly bent than usual.

There are no outsiders here, so he doesn't need to pretend to be a congressman.

"Hart Island has been taken. I own 30% of K0M Corporation, and the water police have been temporarily replaced by O'Connor's men." Brian began reporting on the progress: "Killian has also backed down. Next, I will help him push for the Hart Island Act to send as many bodies as possible to the island."

.

Richard said with satisfaction, "You did a good job on this island. Very fast."

Brian's breathing quickened, and most of the pressure Richard had exerted on him last time had dissipated.

Brian asked, "Next, I will perform surgery on the NYPD. What kind of NYPD does the owner want?"

Richard's attitude determined what he would do; he wanted to know the boundaries of Richard's ambition.

"I want to have complete control of New York," Richard said.

Brian's Adam's apple bobbed.

"Just like the Gestapo controlled Germany," Richard's voice was flat, "If I need to kill someone, I want that person to disappear. Even if he's a tycoon, even if he's a mayor, you have to cover it up. No evidence, no witnesses, no one can investigate."

Gestapo… Brian paused for a few seconds, then took a deep breath: “It can be done.”

He took another deep breath and continued, "But if we do that, we'll have many enemies. The FBI, the Justice Department, the Supreme Court, the grand jury, the state courts..."

The more the NYPD acts—the Attorney General, the Department of Homeland Security, the media, public interest law firms—the faster these bastards will pounce.

He didn't know if Richard was aware of the danger, but he had to bring it up, just as it's best to check the bottom before jumping into a pool of water.

"Are you scared?" Richard asked.

Of course I'm afraid. Brian was silent for a moment.

However, he recalled those days when he received fewer and fewer invitations to dinner parties.

He was once one of the most sought-after figures in New York's power circles. His phone would ring incessantly on important holidays, and anyone would reserve a place for him before making a decision, even if it was just a polite probe.

With Theodore launching his political assassinations, those invitations have now become sparse, hesitant, and almost like handouts.

When he was present, some people would lower their voices, and some would leave early.

His financial backers began to look elsewhere, and no one at Wall Street dinners offered him their business cards anymore. (This was also related to his campaign slogan; since he wasn't taking their money, they naturally didn't bother with him either.)

He could even read a clear message in the way others looked at him: "You're a thing of the past, Brian."

They've already treated him like an outsider.

"Are you scared?" Richard asked again.

Brian's eyes flashed with suppressed rage: "I'm afraid I've been holding back for too long and I've almost forgotten how to flip a table."

Richard laughed.

"Since they treat you like an outsider, then flip the plate and start over. Whether it's the FBI, the Justice Department, or the grand jury, if they stand in your way, kick them aside!"

Brian was both excited and terrified. The thought of potentially offending so many powerful figures in the future would make anyone's heart race.

"As long as you keep New York firmly under control," Richard said, "I can give you some of the necessary help."

Brian was pleasantly surprised, then lowered his head: "I understand."

With his master's words, he had nothing left to fear.

If the master can even be resurrected from the dead, what does it matter if I die in battle?

A new life will be born in a few seconds!

Brian did not choose any office as the meeting place.

It's too easy for someone to spot.

He chose a private club located on the outskirts of Brooklyn.

At the end of an inconspicuous street, it looks like a closed antique shop from the outside, but inside there is only a table, four chairs, and a wooden door that can be locked from the inside.

Isabella arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the agreed time.

She was wearing a dark gray suit, and the bandage on her left arm had been removed, replaced by a thin white gauze hidden under the cuff, which was almost invisible unless you looked closely.

She doesn't like others seeing her injured, as it makes her feel weak.

She sat down at the table, crossing her legs.

O'Connor was three minutes late.

Isabella winked at O'Connor.

Brian was the last to arrive.

He pushed open the door, stood in the doorway for a second, and then walked in and locked the door from the inside.

"The situation has stabilized," Brian said without wasting a word. All three were key insiders and could be frank: "I'm going to make some major changes to the NYPD. But before that, I need to know your stance."

O'Connor hadn't figured out the situation yet.

Isabella spoke first: "I need to know what you want to do."

Brian squinted at Isabella.

He sensed that Isabella's thinking had changed, and she was no longer as obedient as before.

That's normal. Anyone who climbs to such a high position will have all sorts of unrealistic fantasies.

Brian's expression remained unchanged: "You're the director now. The NYPD is under your jurisdiction now, so you can certainly make your own decisions."

Isabella shook her head, stating bluntly, "That's not what I meant. I meant I don't want to just be a hand you put in that position. This position is mine, not mine to sit in for you! I'm not some human stamp!"

Isabella showed no mercy.

O'Connor did not speak.

Brian remained silent for a moment.

Isabella felt she had grown up and thought she could fly solo. It's normal for young people to have all sorts of unrealistic fantasies.

Forget it, let's just keep her in line for now and deal with it later.

Then Brian leaned back in his chair, placed his hands on the table as if making a decision, and after a few minutes said sincerely, "I understand you want independence, but I have a better idea. Those who are meant to leave will leave, and those who are meant to stay need to be taken over. I'm already feeling a bit overwhelmed this year; I can only serve two more terms as a Representative at most, and in four years, I'll be 72. At that time, I will hand over my district to you, and you can run for Representative directly from my district!"

This is the promise of a political successor; with the assistance of a former congressman, it's far easier than Isabella starting from scratch to win a district.

Isabella's eyes lit up.

But she didn't agree immediately; instead, she carefully evaluated the possibilities.

First of all, Brian's children are all useless and certainly can't take over the family business.

Secondly, Brian fainted during a high school speech in October, which caused a great uproar. It was this fainting spell that led the Donald Party to abandon Brian and turn to Marty.

So, Brian's health is indeed failing, and he needs to find a political successor.

However, Isabella wouldn't give up: "You're not good enough? You're quite vigorous in bed!"

Brian replied without changing his expression, "I took my medication."

Looking at the two of them, O'Connor felt like a little white rabbit.

"I like hardworking men?" Isabella laughed, then added, "But why four years? Why not two? Next term, give me your constituency! I'll fully support you!"

Isabella liked to swallow any meat she could get her hands on as quickly as possible.

What a greedy bitch! Brian, with an expression of concern for Isabella, said, "Two years isn't enough time for you to turn the NYPD into your own independent kingdom."

"Believe me, I know the NYPD very well, and I know how to make the NYPD the sharpest knife."

"Having an NYPD in your hands is more valuable than speaking in Congress a hundred times. It's a sharp knife, but you have to learn how to hold it before you can rely on it to pave your way. You won't learn the knife skills or forge a suitable knife in two years."

This is your base of operations, just like I did back then. You must make it as solid as possible!

Isabella frowned.

She felt that Brian was right.

It was precisely because Bryan lost the NYPD that the congressman subsequently faced difficulties.

I cannot repeat the same mistakes.

Four years is indeed longer, but it's also more stable.

She can wait four years, as long as that door will indeed open for her after four years.

"And what about O'Connor?" Isabella remained wary. "Are you going to compete with me for a seat in the House of Representatives?"

Brian turned to O'Connor: "O'Connor succeeded Isabella as director."

O'Connor did not answer immediately.

He paused for a few seconds, glanced at Isabella, then at Brian: "I'd be perfectly content with being the director. Being a senator isn't for me. I'm too blunt, and I don't know how to argue with people."

Isabella breathed a sigh of relief.

She was indeed worried that O'Connor would compete with her.

If O'Connor also wants to be a senator, she will have another competitor, and one who knows her cards.

But O'Connor is a smart man; he knows his place and his weaknesses.

"So it's settled then?" Brian laughed. "For the next four years, you'll all have to cooperate with me. I'll also gradually hand over my political legacy to Isabella—district resources, networks, donation channels, media relations. You know I don't have a particularly suitable political successor."

"Four years later, I'll hand the district over to Isabella, and then I'll push for O'Connor to be chief. After that, it's your business."

Politics is the art of bargaining.

Brian traded a future asset for two loyal partners, which was a great deal.

Someone like Isabella would certainly have thoroughly investigated Brian's family situation.

"Okay, I accept."

"I'm fine too." O'Connor felt extremely lucky to have made it to the Chief Superintendent's office.

The three sat around the table and, with just a few words, forged a deeper alliance and determined the direction of the NYPD for the next ten years.

Of course, things won't always go smoothly. For example, the new mayor might want to nominate one of his own people as a bureau chief.

But nothing ever goes smoothly.

"Speak," Isabella said, reverting to her seductive manner after finishing her business. "Former tyrant of the NYPD, let me see what your brilliant ideas are."

Brian said confidently, "First, we need to control people and money."

"First, I will apply to the federal government for funding to raise the salaries of all NYPD officers, including frontline patrol officers, clerical staff, and support staff—everyone. That way, you can do your job better."

Isabella's eyes lit up.

She knew all too well what frontline police officers wanted most: not recognition, not promotion, but money.

A few hundred dollars more on your paycheck each month is more effective than any oath of loyalty.

This is of great benefit to her.

"You can do it? Getting money out of a member of parliament is harder than taking off his pants."

Brian sneered, "Yes. I'll throw away all pride and guarantee this will happen. I've had enough of losing the NYPD, and now that it's back, I can't give up! But this is just the money from Universal, not enough. We need more money to build a tougher, more elite team."

"Afterwards, I will establish an official security company, with shares for both of you. This company will be responsible for official security services for all high-end commercial districts, office buildings, major sporting events, and Broadway theaters throughout the city. All security contracts must go through us. If they disagree, we'll use frequent surprise fire inspections, traffic checks, and noise compliance inspections to block their doors. They'll eventually give in. They're going to hire security anyway, so it doesn't matter who they hire. With our help, they'll have far fewer problems. Why not? This company will make us a lot of money, enough to support an elite team!"

Isabella's eyes lit up as she listened.

Good idea!

The NYPD has guns, and since they can legally use guns, they naturally want to use them to the fullest extent!

"Second," Brian continued, "we'll select the people. Those who obey will be promoted and given raises; those who disobey will be transferred to remote, high-risk patrol posts, forced to work endless overtime, and eventually fired. If they want to cause us trouble, we'll find a way to frame them and get rid of them. Replace all the important positions with our own people. The most loyal ones will form elite squads!"

This was the Great Purge. Isabella understood perfectly well that the most troublesome part was picking out loyal and obedient people from among everyone—it was extremely difficult, but also extremely effective.

Brian paused for a moment, then immediately offered a favor: "For example, Ralph is doing a good job with the water police; let's make him a police inspector."

O'Connor's expression finally relaxed a little.

That was his promise to Ralph.

He had promised Ralph that if he survived, he would have a place.

Now that Brian brought it up himself, O'Connor is very pleased.

Isabella had no objection to this choice, after all, he was a companion who had come to Hart Island with them.

Although he is now O'Connor's confidant, I could try to bribe him.

Money is fine, meat is fine, she doesn't mind making a new "friend".

"Third," Brian's voice lowered, then hardened, "I'm going to push for a bill in the city council that grants unlimited preventative arrest powers. Whenever we suspect someone of potential danger, we can arrest them directly, without judicial review, and carry out arrests, searches, and imprisonments. Build another temporary detention center and lock these bastards up there!"

These words stunned Isabella and O'Connor.

Preventative arrest? Isn't that just a baseless accusation?

A temporary detention center is basically... a concentration camp.

The room was silent for almost three seconds.

O'Connor finally managed to say, trembling, "Isn't that the Gestapo?"

His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to make the air feel heavy.

"This is America, not Nazi Germany. Do you know how dangerous this is?"

Brian glanced at him.

"Of course it's dangerous, but the rewards are huge, big enough to outweigh the risks! If parliament doesn't approve it, we'll do it under the guise of administrative penalties. We'll do it first, then let the courts chase after us. By the time they catch up, we'll have already done what we wanted to do."

Isabella fell silent.

It's a crazy plan, but it might actually succeed.

If she had this authority for preventative arrest, and if she became a congresswoman in the future, this weapon would give her a more secure position than Brian!

What she has to do is turn this knife into her weapon!

Time is on her side; after all, Brian is 68 years old, and lifespan will equally humiliate every powerful person.

"I agree. I will make it happen within four years."

"You're all crazy!" O'Connor didn't immediately respond, but eventually nodded. "I'll cooperate."

"Fourth, and most importantly, you must help me retain my constituency."

"What can we do? We can't exactly send the police to campaign for you, can we?"

"No need, it's simple. Triple the police force in my district, make it the safest place possible, and drive all the gangs to the surrounding districts! Then Isabella and I will campaign in the districts and keep promoting this. New York's terrible security will make voters make the right choice. If that doesn't work, we'll stir up some trouble in the neighboring districts, like a gang shootout or something."

This could greatly influence Warren's support for Matti.

Isabella immediately realized what this meant.

By accompanying Brian to the election, she began handing over political resources and accumulating political capital four years in advance.

Brian gave her political endorsement, and she endorsed Brian for public safety.

Win-win!

As for the fate of the neighboring district, that's none of Brian and Isabella's business; they just need to protect their own district.

"I agree," Isabella said excitedly, licking her red lips. "All of it! You're right, I can learn a lot from you, you're a very good hook maker."

Brian laughed smugly: "This is just the beginning. Soon they'll know just how terrifyingly powerful the NYPD is in my hands! Henry's just a reckless fool!"

"The NYPD in my hands!" Isabella thought with a cold snort.

However, she didn't say it aloud.

O'Connor looked at Isabella, then at Brian, and finally sighed: "If we succeed, we might be the most powerful directors in NYPD history, but we might also meet in a federal prison."

Brian laughed, then said fiercely, "Then let's overturn the plates first! Who says the NYPD can only maintain order and not break it?"

Debbie lay sprawled on the sofa, completely listless.

Catherine sighed. "The curtains haven't been drawn for three days."

Richard lifted a small opening.

A drone is hovering low over the area outside the residential compound, continuously filming this area.

"That thing has been flying for three days now," Catherine said, feigning anger. "It's been flying day and night, even filming me while I'm sleeping! These believers are insane!"

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